John, My shoulder hurts
by Jolly jamacian janitor
Summary: John's feelings go a little far when Sherlock asked for a massage on his newest shoulder wound, things get a little down and diggy, I could always write a smutty scene if I got some reviews  may be rated M for future chapters
1. All touchy feely and such

"John.."

Broken into reality, the ex soldier gasped at his shameless enjoyment, enticement and gratitute for the thin shoulders beneath his quivering hands, still rubbing, silencing his overwhelmed beating heart, He had been nursing Sherlocks most previous wound, on his right shoulder, pressing soflty across pale skin working tenderly wrenching with both hands, studdering at the view

"yes"

he pressed out, it came out soft and tender

"Your panting."

a moment of terror seized John, had he been found out

"it's nice"

Watson didn't dare move, he didn't dare speak, he knew his voice would break if he uttered anything. Insted he deepened his grasp causing Holmes to gasp a little shot of what could only be heard as a moan, John pressed his body against holmes back, his stomach twisted and his heart yearned as he breathed in every scent of this man,  
>pine oddly enough came to mind first, followed by vanilla and a undetermine scent that only Holmes could emit, Watson found himself bathing in it. Unconciously, as these thoughts crowded Johns usually innocent mind he had slipped his right hand over Holmes sturdy heartbeat, which lept out at him, almost in sync with his own he shuddered letting a guilty<p>

'ah'

along with it, quickly relizing his quite repulsive actions, he retracted into the corner of the room, eyes buldged in worry, worry for what was to become of him if he continued this any longer, fear for the deducing skills of the detective, and the horribly hidden feelings he held so strongly for him. Watson's hand sheltered his gaping mouth, one leg lifted pressed against the wall like a kickstand, his knees weak, chest expanding exsessively, mind tainted with thoughts of lust and buggery.

"I'm sorry"

was uttered before feet scurried across the floor and the door slamming Holmes turned around to an empty room, Sherlock looked around,

"John frightened"

His eyebrows raised in appretiation

"not bad..."

The rest of the evening was mostly quiet and John tried his best to avoid the same screw up with Sherlock it became quickly apparent however that resistance was futile as John was not needed at work and Holmes couldn't stay in his study all day, they saw eachother around six, than again at 12 in the sitting room. Watson layed himself onto the sette, as Sherlock walked in he sprung up, which starlted Holmes causing him to almost loose balance.

"Holmes!"

Watson cried out mindlessly and instinctively. Sherlock looked up at him, questionably he approached What seemed to a case dragging behind him

"What's that?"

John motioned to the obsolete bag thrown behind the tall figure

"Oh this, evidence."

"evidence of what?"

"other than that, what are you doing home"

The sinfully deep voice passed John, leaving him agrivated at the clear dismissal to his question

"they don't need me at work, what's the evidence for"

"I lied"

"what?"

Sherlock dismissed the last comment, as usual

"well are you coming?"

"coming where?"

"my shoulder hurts"

John felt his ears heat, he was sure Holmes could see this and turned away.

"what?"

"nothing,"

"No, you turned away, your doing that... thing you people do"

"us people?"

"right you... vancant minded people"

"I beg your pardon!"

Watson turned in offence, holding his shoulders back and his figure composed.

"stop doing that thing"

"I'm sorry, what is this thing that us 'vacant minded people' do exactly"

"oh come now, don't tell me your taking offense to this."

John opened his mouth but found himself completely fascinated on what was going on in that chaotic mind, that chaotic brilliant mind.

"I'm not"

"That's aside the point why did you turn away"

John for the umpteenth time that day was at a loss of words,

"turned away..."

"Yes, it involved quite a bit on intentional movement based on the fact you turned you wounded shoulder, thus showing it wasn't a mere convience, your hiding And I'd say by the way you seem to have forgotten your cane and are holding it in more a grip than a support shows your stressed by the mention of your absence,  
>now why would that be unless something is on the tip of your tounge"<p>

He smiled as john's face was easy enough to deduce that he was correct, with his smug grin, he leaned in catching John off gaurd

"something you can't say yourself, an issue of private matters, of course why would you come to me unless, it has me involved. But you still won't accept it so turning away was your only option."

"I-"

"So John, tell me. Am I right?"

Sherlocks eyes narrowed matching the depth of his voice.

"God, it's like talking to an analyzing robot!"

John chuckled in disbelief and Sherlock lifted his head in dissaproval of the choice of words

"You said your shoulder was hurting, well come on.."

A clearly agrivated John left the room, quite clearly expecting Sherlock to follow.

"Analyzing robot..."

Sherlock picked up the concept in his mind, disapproving completely

"It's more of a deduction thing really"

Sherlock called after John, before exiting the sitting room to where John patiently sat at an elevation to another chair

"well.."

Sherlock moved to the empty chair, sitting quite awkwardly at first but relaxing as the good doctor began, moving from one shoulder to the next, raking in flesh, pulling it up and reaching for more. It was good silent minute later When John heard the silky rich statement

"Your shoulder, it's in pain"

John stopped, momentarily, but continued, feeling beneath his hands Sherlock's muscles retense.

"It's fine"

Before John could do anything but in sigh in frustration, as the body flew from beneath his hands and swept up behind him, He began kneeding his scar, while stroking his neck, pulling at chin, angling his face so that his heated breath curled along side his the side of his cheek, and collecting at his temple. John arched his back, writhing under the various sensations Sherlock was sending through him

"You still haven't told me why you turned so urgently. If you refuse now, I'll take it upon myself to investigate and I'm sure you of all people know it won't take me long"

Shivers bolted down John's spine at the cold heavy intricate voice, elaborating in his ear. Watson had to remember to lye to Sherlock more.

"Sherlock... please..."

"So what will it be, me observing your every move"

John's heart stopped along with the creamy voice

"And I know how you like your space"

Though he couldn't see it, john felt sherlock smirk, His breathing had become erratic, the pressure on his shoulder melted him in too many ways

"It's..."

Sherlock waited for him to continue even though he knew watsons habits, to shy to mention anything bothering him, to timid to bring a discussion about his own well being, Holmes adored his modesty but had to get it out of him one way or another, this taunted him most about the intriguing man, the inability to read him.  
>Sherlock spun john around in a whirl facing the now completely red companion to face him,<p>

"Watson."

He took a firm tone Johns gaze met sherlock's with a quite pervocative expression, his eyes watering, mouth hanging open,

"No, no it's nothing..."

Again the smug eyes of sherlock- still unmoved by John's bluff peirced his gaze

"what."

More of a statement than anything the deep voice rippled through John Watson's body, affectively rendering his body useless, he wanted to throw it at the lean figure, still so put together and composed. For Sherlock to support his loose limbs, pile into his long white arms.

"Hold me"

It was out. In the air, lingering tension floating, clouding the room. It was a huge surprize as Sherlock complied. Taking the smaller man onto his lap. Pressing Johns knee's against his shoulder, Sherlock held His eyes to a corner of the room, holding him securely in place but not sparing a glance

"sherlock... what are you doing"

"you people are so indesicive, you asked me to hold you, and I am"

"us people with vacant minds?"

"Oh John, you say that like it's a question"

John chuckled and burrowed into sherlocks lanky chest, pulling his head back and forth, rocking him rhymically, just enjoying the rare oppertunity

"It's nice"

sherlock's breathing stilled, John felt him tense under his legs. Grasping his head into his shoulder, Johns melting alittle more into his hold, forgetting himself again and again

"...Kiss me"

John paralyzed, he really just said that, it sounded as needy and raspy as he felt it rumble in his throat, regretting his stupidity his eye buldged hidden in Sherlocks clothes

"I can't John"

John hoped to god, somehow he didn't say that... someway he didn't-

"I didn't know you were that dull John"

John prayed to god if he squeezed his eyes tight enough he would drowned out the insults

"You'll have to face me for that to happen, unless of course you'd prefer making out with my arm pit"

John's eyes shot open he sprung up, but found he was in Sherlocks grip, the best he could do was come to eye contact. Before he knew it, the perfectly curved lips were on him, and as quickly as they came, they were gone.

"Why..."

"Well I can't really afford to displease you too much, wouldn't want to loose..."

Sherlock tightened the creases on his mouth, he looked down and cleared his throat, glancing back at John and than turning away to state

"Your companionship"

A smirk wiped across John's eager face

"So your doing what I say now are you?"

Sherlock met John with an equally ambitious grin

"It's an experiment."


	2. Here we see sexual frustration

Sherlock leaned in, kissing john once again, only this time, with desperation, with need, clutching to his good shoulder and moaning quite shamelessly into his mouth. Loosing himself at the back of the smaller man's throat, drowning himself in the sloppy kisses, both wet and uncordinated, some reaching down to John's neck, sucking and grabbing with his mouth, massaging the skin.

"Sherlock.."

John ushered sherlock up to meet his gaze, hazel fogged with lust.

"So that mouth is good for more than deducing?"

"What I wonder John, is why you would tear me up hear, when this..."

The consulting detectives hands flickered beneath his shirt, and began such a wonderous exploration on sensitive pink nubs.

"Is so delightfully interesting"

Johns hand grasped Sherlocks back as his lips led down the nape of his neck, along with a fine trail of saliva, gathering at the meeting of shoulder to neck chewing almost as his clever hands weaseled their way to the doctors back, pulling him foward, urging his own hips against John's. John met in the middle, grinding helplessly against the towering body, such lovely gasps escaping his throat as the curious hands fimly took hold of the built hips, thumbs circuling and forcefully squeezing at his sides as once again a messy kiss of tounges intertwining and deep rumbles of pleasure muffled into eachothers airway. Breaking away for split seconds and gasping for air as the clashing, grinding and groaning continued.

"Not here."

Sherlock breathed, in one of their momentary resurface for oxygen.

"Wha-"

"I won't-*kiss*- deflower -*kiss*-you here..."

"right than-*kiss*- my room or yours?"

"No-*kiss*- I mean..."

Sherlock pulled away, ignoring Johns pleading grumble for more

"I must properly deflower you"

Leaving John with a obvious hard-on, and breathless on the sette, Sherlock retreated to his room. And within minutes John heard the violin roughing something between art and noise. Sherlock was thinking. And it turned him on. This was getting annoying, but loving a sociopath ought to be.

"buggar."

John muttered standing up

"If he does this everytime..."

John shook his head, approaching the bathroom

"deflower my ass!"

John stopped as he reached the door to the shower, relizing the ironic pun before dropping his clothes and standing beneath the warm spray, coating him in what he compared to Sherlock's warmth, he bit his lip as he began. Refraining from shouting Sherlock's name as he arched his back along the shower wall. Hand pumping along to the rythme of the out of tune violin, which of all things, was helping him get off. It's was like hearing sherlock moan from his touch. The music, perverse and fast, no determined speed.

If this continued, John was going to resort to sex with his goddamn violin.


	3. Fiddler in a patch of Johns mind flowers

"Deflower my ass!"

John stopped as he reached the door to the shower, relizing the ironic pun before dropping his clothes and standing beneath the warm spray, coating him in what he compared to Sherlock's warmth, he bit his lip as he began. Refraining from shouting Sherlock's name as he arched his back along the shower wall. Hand pumping along to the rythme of the out of tune violin, which of all things, was helping him get off. It's was like hearing sherlock moan from his touch. The music, perverse and fast, no determined speed.

If this continued, John was going to resort to sex with a goddamn violin!

SHERLOCK'S POV.

Sherlock was steadying his breath. Keeping in in pitch with the instrument, his hands were violating the violin like John's skin. Sharp movements slashing across the thick strings. Straining into the air, screaming, but with passion and purpose. He was in thought,his eyes fluttering from note to note, his lips tossed downward tightened at the ends, creating dimples. He sways with opinion, and scratching the strings with logic. Density in the room thickened as John turned the tap and steam had coiled it's way around Sherlock like a mist. Flooding his nosetrils with scents of bath oils, and skin. His mouth broke it's silence, taking a deepth breath, collecting the aroma, Sherlock pant, once, as his arm flew back two vile strings, squeeling in senuality, drawn back by an echo of a flat dark note, displaying Sherlock's libido, deep as though in his own voice... thoughts swollen to the back of his head, grabbing hold of his throat, holding like Sherlocks jaw, which was locked, unallowing another weak moan to be jestured into the air. Breathing heavily through his nose. Scabbing along the instrument, tearing at it at a reckless speed Allowing himself-

JOHN'S POV.

-To fall back into the shower, hand sped faithfully along with Sherlock's violin, feeling himself climaxing along with a intense cry, once more deep and raspy, consumed with desire, he clawed at his leg, finally completely defenceless

"SHERLOCK!"

John grew loose, his toes relaxed and the water cleansing his previous activity from his body. The music ceased and there was a curious ring from Sherlock...  
>Only with Sherlock could you feel an emotion through the room around you. John groaned in embarassment when he heard foot steps coming up the stairs and he found himself so lewdly sprawled on the floor of the shower, gasping for air,<p>

"John?"

He hesitated at Sherlock's voice which broke through his body as his notes had..

"I'm fine Sherlock"

"but you yelled my name-"

"Ah yes..."

John glanced around trying to sound casual

"well I-ah don't have a towel"

Sherlock's eyes flickered across the words in his mind, distrusting the insincerity and desiphering possiblities that John had to want a- Oh. Oh this was good.  
>Yes, even sociopaths understand masturbation.<p>

"I replaced them yesterday.."

Sherlock began, smile flickered across his face, using the same manipulative, harmless voice as he had when using a woman's apartment balcony.

"yeah well I..."

John sighed resting back his head in a dissapointment for his only excuse

"I need one for my hair"

He clenched the side of his lips in shame as sherlock began laughing, but couldn't help opening to a smirk and chuckling softly. He heard Sherlock's feet scurry and assumed it was safe to say he was probably just leaving and not getting the towel. John open the showers curtain and grinned at the towels that Sherlock had bought. They were absolutely ridiculous and out of character for the detective, one black from afar, but close to it, it was an extremily dark blue with a gold signature atop that read 'Sherlock', Next to it a AC/DC towel that Sherlock insists it was gift, though says she didn't give it to him and he would burn it if it was from Mycroft which left John his own mystery of what Sherlock Holmes was doing with a bloody rock and roll towel. He reached for the AC/DC knowing Sherlock probably had a issue with John using his towel... although he didn't seem to mind having his tounger roughing it down his throat, while grinding like horny teenagers. This made him rethink his choice in apparel, and he tossed the AC/DC towel over the bar and smugly took the neat 'Sherlock'deep blue one, feeling pretty damn confindent that he would finally piss Sherlock off and now he had the place to do it.

Sherlock had resumed his violin violating in the sitting room, plucking the strings, focusing on the ceiling. John entered to the sight of Sherlock on the sette, instrument length wise, facing the ceiling, aligned to the curves of the furniture effortlessly, perfectly.

"I see your roughing it out with your hair"

"wha- oh..."

John immediately regret his pathetic lie, although it seemed to be working for Sherlock.

"the towel... on my head thing.."

"Tell me, is that how you get your shine?"

"Sherlock..."

"yes?"

"who the hell taught you what deflowering meant?"

both smiled wildly

"and why didn't you delete it?"

"Just tea for me thanks"

"Sherlock I'm not even dressed!"

"I didn't say there was a hurry"

John left at that and muttered some sort of complaint followed by

"Just let me get some clothes on."


	4. Sherlock will have his way!

"Just tea for me thanks"

"Sherlock I'm not even dressed!"

"I didn't say there was a hurry"

John left at that and muttered some sort of complaint followed by

"Just let me get some clothes on."

*The following night*

"John.."

the deep baritoned voice, dancing over his name, doing such things to his groin.

"John..."

Prying at his flesh, like a carress but deeper

"John wake up!"

John was tossed quite abrubtly from a wet dream by the topic of said dream. He groaned seeing both his erection and the consulting detective lurched over him He glanced at his alarm clock

"It's three in the bloody morning Sherlock, what the HELL do you want?"

"I need you to do my laundry."

"What..."

"I need you to-"

"No Sherlock-"

his thumb and index finger pinched the bridge of his nose as he patiently sighed, regaining his composure

"I heard you Sherlock, by why at three in the morning would you want me to know about your laundry"

"Ah yes that"

Sherlock pointed aimlessly around the room

"What Sherlock?"

His tone had taken an agrivation

"a case"

"what?"

"I have a case in about- oh well ten minutes now"

Sherlock signalled at his watch as though John hadn't stated the time only moments ago

"Well... don't you suppose I'd want to help?"

"And thats why I've brought you laundry."

John stared into his eyes for a moment, with a are-you-fucking-kidding-me expression, before drawing in a soft cordinated breath.

"So."

John began, steadying eye contact, speaking with sincerity

"I'm supposed to do your laundry"

"yes I don't see what-"

"AH bub!"

John's fingered caught Sherlock's wide mouth in one motion

"YOU answer the questions."

"I'm supposed to do your laundry"

"yes"

"and all the while you'll be on a case"

"yes"

"and I am helping by doing your laundry?"

"quite a sound observation"  
>"god-sherlock... HOW? How does that help, at all, I mean AT ALL!"<p>

"It is only the most crucial part"

"What are... are you high? No- Sherlock, I can COMPLETELY see the relevance of your apparell to your job chasing criminals!"

"Your being sarcastic aren't you"

"... yes Sherlock I'm being... FUCKING sarcastic"

John pound into his bed as the alien swear form from his lips

"Well than. I'll see you in around..."

Again Sherlock's wrist flickered from beneath his coat

"Oh well a few hours... not long"

John rolled back into his bed, not to worry about another wet dream, his dick wasn't going anywhere but down.

"John one more thing."

The doctor forced himself not to scream as he turned and sat up facing the detective

"yes?"

Sherlock leveled himself to John and pulled him into a soft kiss, running his hand through his hair once.

"Right than... that'll do"

John's eyes were stilled half lidded, lips puckered and red.

"ahem... well I should be... you know"

Sherlock awkwardly pointed to the bed

"Sleep and such..."

John layed back finally impressed with that consulting detectives unexpected actions, now if only he could make more of THESE random decisions. He smiled at the thought of Sherlock doing this sort of thing more often before relizing the basket on his floor of dirtied clothes.

"Mother-"

The next morning Sherlock was gone, which didn't exactly surprize John. John contimplated several times about blogging his late night... ordeal, with Sherlock but was stopped each time by the reminder that for some reason, everyone who was involved in their lives read it. For god sake MYCROFT complimented a study in pink. John was of course standing infront of a washing machine full of Sherlock's clothes. Sighing and thinking over their ever so messed up relationship,  
>Pimp and bitch, Sociopath and adreniline junkie, Friends, Flatmates and now apprently Lovers. Watson was torn from his thoughts when he recieved a text.<p>

Don't need the laundry anymore -SH

John felt his eye twitch. It wasn't intentional, his eye litterally twitched, his fingers shaking with irritation as he flipped the phone shut (hopefully not breaking the screen) Shoving it back into his pocket ignoring the text. But of course another one followed. John sighed as he confirmed the 'Pimp and bitch'  
>relationship, returning to the screen<p>

I've got something you'll like. -SH

And what would that be?

John we've been over this, you need to signature your texts -SH

John looked to the side, running his tounge over his lips in disbelief.

Fine than, what is it Sherlock? -JW

Better. I need you to come outside -SH

'bitch' ran through his head as he complied, going to see what his 'pimp' got him. If Sherlock started John on the street in all honesty it wouldn't surprize him at this rate. Opening the door John Watson found himself faced to face with a car, a car containing the eccentric detective. Sherlock Holmes popping up obviously quite proud of himself

"Where... a car?"

"an effecient transport"

"where did you get a car Sherlock- did you steal it?"

Again his lips were moistened by a darting tounge, accusing him with his pointed index finger

"It's rude to point John"

Sherlock did a cunning half smile, the one he did when he'd done himself proud, like his artwork on the wall. (bullet smiley face still there btw)

"Well are you coming?"

John hesistately, looking left than right, seeing if anyone was running after their car, before stepping into the vehicle sheepishly.

"Do you even know how to drive?"

"Well I drove it here didn't I?"

"wonderful..."

John sunk into his chair. He was in a car with Sherlock Holmes behind the wheel... Oh God.


	5. Sherlock knows whats kinky

John didn't know where the car came from, he didn't know where he was going, the only thing he knew was that Sherlock in all his glory could NOT drive a car.  
>He drove like he ran, quickly effeciently and with a blatant disregard for his own life, at this point they were going well over the speed limit, and cutting down alleys with dangerously sharp turns. All John could think about was him being in transporter 3 with Jason Statham.<p>"Where are we going Sherlock?"<p>

"Were only going to stay here"

Any confusion by those words to John were washed away when the car parked in a feild alittle out of London.

"Sherlock what are we doing he-"

John discontinued his sentence when he turned to face a deviously grinning sherlock, one hand scwraled across the dashboard, his body turned and leaned towards the passenger seat.

"Oh-"

John was caught by the bow lips pressing against his own, gaining acsess, carressing the inside of his mouth, tracing along his gum line, sucking in his lips as he potitioned his hands to cradle the side's of the smaller man's head, one head becoming more and more bekoning as it grabbed hold of John's inner thigh causing him to gasp, lips still kissing the side of his mouth, one powerful squeeze send John back to the door of the car hands gripping tightly to Sherlock's back, legs on either side of Sherlock's body which had moved itself completely over him. Licking the side of his neck, between soft suckles whispering

'John... john... ah, my John'

Working his mouth to John's collar bone, weaving across his chest, slowly unbuttoning than attacking skin, reaching his belly button and guiding John's arms through the process of throwing it to the back seat, falling soon after it, Sherlock weasling his way out of his own shirt in the process, grabbing a firm grip of John's hips, John writhing beneath him, being touched, kissed and loved.

"Sherlock-*pant*- were... you're going to- *kiss*- sex..."

Just a timid voice coated in heavy breathing, and lust.

"Oh yes..."

Sherlock spoke into John's throat, barely moving as he spoke.

"But... It's a car"

John sat up, as though in protest, but his horniness forsaked him and he was left a panting mess, still clinging to Sherlock for support and the -feel- of Sherlock

"I did my research John"

Sherlock smugly smirked, pecking john's lip onces again, causing a moan to ring into the small area.

"This proved to be most pleasurable

Sherlock's next kiss dragged the air from John's lungs, pulling and massaging his tounge in the detectives mouth, once apart again, just breathing eachothers heat

"By god Sherlock did you watch porn?"

Sherlock laughed which John breathlessly joined, noses grazing, chest's expanding and deflating out of sync against eachother

"very well... carry on than-"

Sex with Sherlock was unlike anything John had ever experienced. The closest he could compare it to was the first time he tried drugs in collage, one time thing he had a good night on shrooms with a few of his friends listening to Paul Simon but this... this far exceeded every sensation, mental trip, or exstacy all at once. heart bounding out of his chest like a screaming autumn leaf falling. he could feel his pulse at the back of his throat. His body twitching to the pants and moans. Every sense coming alive through exposure. Temples slowly being massaged ringing lowering perception of noise. Hands shaking. Teeth clattering. Limbs flexing in pleasure. Mind fussing about almost yelling in tune with heart beating slightly faster. Sudden dryness in entire back and throat. Urges to clutch his muscles. Slight shivers. Fingertips bleeding with lust. Hand prints ripping inward like the sensation of peeling off dried glue. Imploding. Errupting. chocking. breathing. Panting. Blue electric waves pouring beneath at the indends of his spine. Arching him foward. Being sensationally exploded out towards the sun like a flower blooming. Finding himself shattered and distorted by touch. Vibrations shaking through him.  
>Sinking into the ripple of peace and tranquility. Want. Grab. Take. Sherlock's intoxciating moans like a low electric guitar hanging a note wobbling it through float through sins of the flesh. Body Submitted. Mind warping around the daze. Visiting his concious only to roll back to white bliss. feeling a voice along his check burrowing into his ear like a crack in concious. feeling himself rise and fall back on the dreams hr had as a child. Sherlock's skin is a silk. Flowing down his shoulders. A divine breath exhaled onto his chest. His mind drifts into the spray of silk. Intrution of moist warmth. Invading his respiratory system. His cries of guilt drowning in the resting mouth. One final thrust. A wet sensation shooting down his spine. Sweet overexposed relief. Unconstriting the denisty of his numb throat. Studdered breath shaking him. Leaking his mind back into concious. Fingers crawling over bare skin. The dense fog sprinkled like a obstruction. Body rendered useless. Rediscovery of cold. Rediscovery of sight. Rediscovey of pressence. The room has stilled. His eyes have close. His heart calmed. His mind is elate. His body gone. His existance.<p>

Perfect.

Sherlock had flipped them over, John resting on him, wet, dirty and spent. Still Sherlock's provactive hands kept their motion, rubbing along his ribs, grabbing hold of his weak points (hips, abdomen etc.) which John immediately returned the affections, stroking the side of this marble face, kissing the other allowing himself to close his eyes and venture to the ear, dropping his head there and working away with his teeth, nibling the craved taste. Resuming his whisper of

'Sherlock'

"John..."

"Yes?"

"If you continue that Machiavellian activity, I'm going to love you again"

John lolled his head back chuckling as Sherlock did just that. Once again colliding their body heat, nuking the senses. Taken John's oxygen directly from his throat, rocking them in a upright position, kissing John's shoulder as once again he pumped into him, pulling out the senselessly enticing

'Sherlock, oh god Sherlock- yes'

The hands clentching his ribcage, tightening their embrace, shuddering entranced in the indulgent mouth.

"Touch my hand-"

Sherlock oblidged, taking John's smaller fingers into his own, sliding the pads of their fingers together. Moving in unison, pushing forward and backward.  
>John's voice somewhere lost along the detectives jaw<p>

"Say something Sherlock-"

John was caught in a moan of exstacy

"something- *weeze*- good"

he rolled the words, releasing them in Sherlocks cheek, still crashing down on Sherlock's erection, at every contact a spark of pleasure, a bolt of heat and need.

"I'm going to paralyze you... with pleasure"

John conformed to the taller body, relishing the friction

"Oh god I hope so..."


	6. Oh Jim, You fiend!

Undoubtedly John awoke sore and tired. About half way through round 4 of sex in a car (which Sherlock woke John up for) they had been caught, turns out Sherlock had driven through at least ten feet of wheat on farming land, and to top it off, they were found by a officer who had been returning home only to find the worlds only consulting detective humping the shit out of (no pun intended) his blogger. Of course Sherlock flashed Lestrade's badge and drove away quite viciously. Poor powerless cop didn't stand a chance, neither did John, who again was left on a cushioned seat with a unattended hard-on.

"mhh..."

John felt Sherlock exhale onto his spine, Sherlock was asleep. Something rare, but than again John had just been fucked by this asexual man, so hey anythings possible. John twisted his stomach around so it was against Sherlock's. Steady and slow, rocking one another at each breath.

"John..."

A mumble fled the limp lips. The light framing his angelic features, dark curls flooded his forehead in a mat, it was in these times John could only marvel at the beauty of his companion.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"tea."

Than again, beauty was shit without manners.

"My ass hurts"

"expected, I am quite large"

John tried to coat his smile with a stern army face, but all was useless, Sherlock had smirked contently making this moment flawless in every sense.

"John... I have a favor to ask of you"

"Oh please don't tell me you have morning wood Sherlock"

his lips pursed, slowly stretching his eyes to the light

"Why are the curtains open?"

"What?"

"the curtains... they're never open"

"I'll close them..."

"no... I can see you it's quite, pleasing."

John felt the space between them growing rapidly smaller, he almost fell into it before realizing, if this kept up, I don't know how but he would surely loose one ass, And it wasn't as though he had any to spare.

"You ah- said a favor?"

"That may have changed in the past few seconds"

A toothless grin was all too enticing for the poor sore doctor. God that man was too charming for his own good

"Nothing good ever came of indecisiveness, you of all people should know this"

"ambiguity, poison of our society... isn't it just treacherous?"

"Keep talking like that and I'll never get out of this bed."

"Your not doing very well on convincing me to stop"

Really, this flirting was ridiculous. And it's never going to stop until John gets up. And though his entire elite army mind would like to convince him otherwise, he'd do Sherlock till he couldn't walk. Which had already halfway happened.

"Okay!"

John lunged him for beneath the blanket

"I'm up."

He didn't spare a glance to Sherlock- He knew bloody well knew he was pouting, which he evidently did fantastically. But hell, John was flattered by every attentive move he had been given I mean, no case in what a week and Sherlock hadn't destroyed anything but John's pocket knife, a few eggs... and 's comb. Whatever the hell he did, John Watson sure wasn't interested in finding out, as long as the walls were intact and no limbs had been place out of a cool area, he was more than content. But damn, his ass was sore.

John heard the padded footsteps descend the stairs. He stood above two steaming cups of tea, of course he'd obliged Sherlock's request... well he WAS his bitch.

"Morning sweetheart"

John spun, just carefully enough to not bring the searing hot liquid to the floor.

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me"

Sherlock swept across the kitchen, taking John's hip in one hand and the cup in the other, Swiftly kissing his temple chastely. Yeah, Watson enjoyed his stop as bitch.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes John?"

"Your high aren't you?"

Sherlock brushed their noses together before resting his forehead on John's

"Now why ever would you say that"

"Well, you just bloody well romanced me in the back of a car. And you, Sherlock Holmes are treating me like your beloved house wife"

Now John had parted them momentarily to say this in a dignified fashion. But still was more than welcoming to the rested hand.

"And whose to say your not. Just now, did you not make me coffee, and I'm pretty sure I had you on my cock-"

"Okay Sherlock"

John had fleeted his grip flying to the sette and settling down singed pink.

"Thats enough."

"Is that my phone?"

"wh-"

"SH... Thats my phone"

Before John could conjure up a response Sherlock had dashed from the frame of the kitchen to his room, leaping over a coffee table and anything else that would take moments to walk around. Within awkwardly silent minutes John heard the rustling of a returning Sherlock who was dressed quite elegantly as he was on every departure for a case, or just going to eat at Angelo's.

"So your leaving than."

John called from the sofa to a neglectful back, licking his lips and looking away in disappointment. Damn his ass never learned. A moments hesitation before Sherlock met his gaze.

"Yes well... things I must do"

His voice sounded dry and strained. Deflated.

"Anything wrong?"

"quite the opposite John."

He once again faced the door promptly opening it, and stepping onto the streets of London fixing his scarf and hat he returned to his doctor,

"Every thing's right"

At that, the door was shut with a secure bang, than a click. There was no way in hell that was going to fly with John. He listening intently to the thuds of shined shoes clashing to the stairs, before the dark lean figure tred onto the paved walkways.

"Damn it Sherlock..."

John pushed off the couch pulling on his coat and grabbing his cane.

SHERLOCK'S POV.

Oh yes, that was definitely the faint buzz or whatever you would like to call it that his phone gave when receiving from an unknown number. Now who, besides of course Mycroft and Lestrade would be texting him. This was enough to peak interests away from screwing his flatmate. This was either urgent or just a prank, Sherlock concluded sparing no time for explanation he scampered to his familiar door, rushing to his phone like an injured child. When faced with the screen Sherlock's face contorted really, into some form of Sherlock's real emotion, which unlike his fake ones was a deformed, unused, defect for his features. It was his emotion worry, and he hadn't really used it since his dog bumper was nearly hit by a car. His eyes bulged in worry, lips bitten together, boring his eyes into the tiny screen that read:

**A car is waiting 2 streets in the west I suggest you find it and keep suspicions low or John Watson. Well lets not get repetitive Sherlock, we both have heard it before. Just save yourself the heart break and comply.**

His fingers floated above the letters to his miniature keyboard, mouth dry and him senselessly frightened. Gathering his face, features again in their organized faultless order he strode to the sitting room and passed an ignored John, who looked like a unattended wife.

"So your leaving then."

Oh, again he had to reconstruct his face, the ache in John's voice didn't help much either. He close his eyes for a moment, giving only seconds of eye contact when he turned.

"Yes, well theres something I must do"

He felt it rumble timidly from his throat. He soaked in the image of his blogger, reassuring himself that he was safe.

"Anything wrong?"

he was once again torn from the sight of the door, killed by the sincere concern in John's voice.

"Quite the opposite John."

He felt himself once again wit his words with enthusiasm and spark. Though everyone was in danger (everyone as far as he was concerned) things were right, oh so right. His hand finally reached the nob, driven now by the mystery at hand. 


	7. ALMOST TO THE SEX

Sure enough, a car too obviously meant for him await two streets away. Of course Sherlock wasn't fretting, Mycroft would have them targeted and the police (if they weren't too incompetent) would be there within the hour. The door was held open by a six foot big eared slender man. His dress suit way too classy to be for any assassinations so Sherlock assumed safety and was ushered into the vehicle.

The back of the car smelt of cigar and tofu. Yes Sherlock had deciphered the smell of tofu and oddly enough it was amidst the material. A woman sat across from him, hair strictly tied into a bun, angled sharp features mainly leather outfit. Jean jacket.

"Jim Moriarty, vishes to meet vith you."

A strong russian accent.

"I figured as much"

Her phone emitted a mewing sound, buzzing simultaneously. She glanced at it, still serious looking back to Sherlock.

"he says, hello kitten"

Sherlock cast his gaze out the window, which was tinted, trying very hard not to laugh at the fact that a russian woman who looked like a pretzel stick with an angry face and a jean jacket just called him a kitten. He kept this throughout a majority of the ride, sometimes peering to his 'host' to figure out any clues as to where he was going. There was a dust line on her feet though not on her shoes, she had changed before she got in the car, her hands were worked and callused so, she was a laboured woman. Though it didn't give him much of a hint it sure as hell kept his mind entertained before they reached a halt, and all to quickly after he was pulled out and bagged, No, not a bag over his head, they litterally threw a potato sack over him and he was carried like a princess. All Sherlock could think was... 'ow... my pride.'

"Thats fine boys, set him riiighhht there"

Oh, that was the flirty voice he knew. Flaunting gayly over every word. He was tossed out a kindly as he'd been tossed in, which was starting to hurt.

"Oh Sherlock I just had to see you."

The room wasn't much, grey cement, clearly, there was one man, who'd carried him in, standing beside Jim. Nothing less, and nothing more.

"What is it Jim, this is getting old"

"Huh... do you really think so? Well that's probably why I was so excited when I found out about you and johnny boy rabbit hopping"

Fuck. Was all that ran through Sherlock's mind as John was tossed carelessly beside him.

"Go ahead Sherlock... hug him, you know you want to. And he'd like it too wouldn't you Johnny boy?"

John scowled. His hands, unlike Sherlock's, were tied, quite tightly he could see.

"Are you alright"

Sherlock questioned, his eyes still trained at Jim, observant and careful.

"Fine"

"oh, look at that, their a couple you see"

He elbowed his guard chuckling.

"And bravo Sherlock, I really couldn't tell from your underwear."

He stepped closer

"So what now, you kill us?"

Clear irritation, in this situation still lingered in Sherlock's voice,.

"Oh how dull Sherlock. I just wanted you to know, that I am coming"

He started to pace just out of their reach.

"I suppose you've heard that enough from John but, see, I can't do it today, your pesky brother already knows where we are. And I'm sure you'll be safe today kitten"

He edged closer, running his finger along John's jaw, which immediately tightened, his fists clenched, as for Sherlock, every muscle was tensed, though he was trying quite meaninglessly to look casual.

"I just wanted you to know... that I found your heart."

His hand flickered away, he softly bounced to the door, giving one more look of destruction to the 'lovely couple' He sneered, motioning for the door to be opened by his brute of a body guard

"And Sherlock, I will have fun burning it"

He spun around, almost clapping with delight as he left

"Can't wait to play with you Johnny boy"

Slipped through the closing door before a slam echoed out and Sherlock hurtled to John, kissing his cheek in a clash of anxiety and whipping to his bonds, freeing them instantly and breaking a nail.

"Sherlock I'm fine"

His hands slapped onto the sides of his face pulling his sights towards him.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Sherlock... I'm fine"

"Should I make love to you?"

"what? No, Sherlock that is defiantly not something we should do in this situation, why the hell-"

Sherlock pulled john into the corner, laughing

"Sociopath, John."

tapping at his skull, he steadied his breathing, clutching John to his chest, basking in the glorious fact that John was alive and unharmed. Shouting minutes later was heard, no doubt Mycroft's men. The sad slow lot of them, wandering around lost looking for them in a pathetic attempt of a rescue mission, in reality being about two minutes late. The door was rapidly opened but five struggling cops, who were taken aback for a minute when they opened the door to the objectives of their mission cuddling intimately in a secluded room, but charged in anyway with shock blankets and first aid kits. They were hurried from the building with claims of it being their 'place of traumatization'. Which Sherlock had told them repeatedly wasn't a word but was hushed on the claim that mild hysteria had kicked in. This was more than ridiculous.

"Sherlock"

John and Sherlock glanced up from the ambulance to an approaching Lestrade.

"Are you alright?"

"No, these people annoy me, I'm going home. Come John"

"Your leaving cause I came aren't you"

"No, not at all. Me and John have some fucking to make up for"

John was pulled away from his shock blanket after Holmes, trying to give lestrade a look of justification but knew, yeah they totally were. Once at a safe distance John aligned to Sherlock.

"So I'm guessing you have no sense of modesty"

"As I said, not important."

"Like the sun?"

"When that information is of any use for me John, I thank you for your horribly annoying droning on, however, since I see no use. I don't care"

"Well maybe I won't have sex with you tonight!"

"It's still early there's time."

"No Sherlock I mean I'm not having sex with you TODAY"

"That's fine, I'll alert you at 12:05am."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. In a vain attempt to calm himself down, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he was startled however when Sherlock took his hand.

"Ah... Sherlock"

"Your eyes were closed John, you can't walk to well without sight"

He cunningly smiled John merely avoided attentive eyes, affectionately examining the flustered stern face of his army doctor. Tucking him under his arm momentarily.

"I- ah... never done that"

John glanced around awkwardly, scanning before tightening his lips and nodding

"It was charming..."

"So we-ah... keep this in the bedroom-"

"yes, yes that would be fine"

221 baker street, the green door stood steps away, Sherlock opened it, allowing John before himself to flood into the hallway.

"So sex than?"


	8. Seven attempted sins of Sherlock

John Watson was a concerned man. Concerned that Moriarty was going to burn him, and concerned at Sherlock latest obsession. Shagging. It had been about two days since the Moriarty incident and about two days since John had stopped 'putting out'. Just two days and seven times Sherlock has tried to coil his way into his pants. (John has managed to evade five of them)

The first, John going to take a Shower, Sherlock running a bath and waiting for him, pulling him in, and giving him the kissing of a life time.

The second, John trying to make tea. Sherlock played violin for him, than used the bow to trace along John's inner thigh while moving closer.

The third, Sherlock abducting John by lassoing him into his closet with his scarf and whispering in his ears the statistically most sensitive areas, whilst rubbing them in order least sensitive to most sensitive.

The fourth, John trying to do his laundry, Sherlock running up from behind him hoisting him onto the machine and explaining in between kisses that 'no one could burn his heart because he'd eat it before that could happen.'

The fifth, John was trying to sleep, Sherlock nibbled at his ear at 3 am Sherlock got kicked into his own bed

The sixth, Sherlock went back into John's bed and was carressing John's hips and giving him back massages at 4 am. John sent him to the couch.

The seventh, Sherlock buying John flowers and brang him on a date to Angelo's. Okay well.. he hadn't tried yet, but John was pretty damn sure he was gonna. Angelo had served them at this point, apparently Sherlock called and asked that their food be ready when they arrived. So in front of John was a candle dinner and prepared food, and of course, the smiling detective who had been trying to hump his leg for the past 2 days.

"How you like it John?"

Holmes' eyes glistened, like a child praying for their parents consent.

"It's good Sherlock."

"Eat."

he signalled the plate of pasta and leaned back, his face resuming it's natural smirk, pressing his fingers together. His plate of toast untouched.

"I want you to eat Sherlock, I'm not going to sit here with you watching me,"

Sherlock looked almost stunned. Leaning forward in his chair buttering his toast

"No no"

John looked up chuckling,

"Eat"

He twirled noodles onto his fork and lifted them to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock was staying a good 5 centimetres in front of the fork,

"John, though I've deduced many things above you, you are still a mystery"

John smiled falsely, the impending fork still untouched.

"Go ahead Sherlock, I'm pretty sure Angelo would poison himself before he'd poison you"

"your doing that thing again"

"that thing us people with vacant minds do? And what would that be?"

"sarcasm."

His arms folded onto the table, hovering towards the candle Sherlock entranced John by mischievously smirking, speaking in a scheming baritone rumble

"Almost as treacherous as indecisiveness"

With that his mouth enveloped the strings of noodles, chewing them carefully, as to not upset John and swallowing. Both men were silent for a good minute, John realizing he had just spoon fed the words only consultive detective. And Sherlock realizing that John had to feed him all his meals from this point forth.

"So Sherlock, what was that favor?"

"What?"

"In the bedroom you never did tell me"

Sherlock tucked his napkin into his shirt, picking up eye contact with his half buttered toast. His posture resumed it's sturdy fashion, his face collected and his hands once again standing against each other, he spoke as he leaned into his chair

"Words are stupidly over rated so I decided against them."

"What, Sherlock. What does that mean?"

Sherlock parted his eyes from his toast, and rested a cool blue on John like he'd done something utterly shocking

"Vacant minded remember?"

John tapped his head,

"Ah yes, very well than John..."

he looked attentively out the window,

"I wish your companionship... to never perish."

Sherlock chocked on the words. His brow furrowed and lips tightened, uncomfortable in every aspect.

"I love you too Sherlock"

Now it was John's turn to look away as investigating ice spun to face him. I small smug toothless grin dimpling on side of his illuminated face.

"You love me?"

It was full of mockery and amusement.

"Yes."

Sherlock's lanky finger reaching across their set up of food to John's chin, which was turned away though he was still quite clearly tinted red ear to ear, the sleuth tactfully , when successfully redirecting John's eyes he beamed, admiring his quaint dainty features.

"Well you are of course delightfully mad"

"Mad enough to love?"

clapping rippled through the air as Angelo had weaselled his way to their table and was now watching them from a good five feet away, Sherlock's arm was whisked from John's chin and shoved in a fist into his cheek. Inspecting his toast once again.

"Too mushy for my taste anyway"

"Shall we leave?"

"Yeah I think that would be best"

The two gathered their coats, John bidding Angelo a goodnight and accepting his 'blessing' before following Sherlock into the depth of night.

"Come on John!"

Sherlock had of course somehow immedeately hailed a cab and was standing quite impatently at the open door, waving at his shorter friend. Both men slipped into the vehicle, Sherlock instructing the driver in his quick 'I don't want to talk' demand.

"What do you think of first impressions Sherlock"

"Their ridiculous."

"ah."

John's eyes strayed to the window, the detective picked up and hung his head slightly

"You were going to ask me what I first thought of you..."

"Yeah."

"Well-"

"no please, not for my sake."

"Are you sure you want to know"

"I already have a guess I'm pretty sure is correct."

"Have you ever seen the cartoon scooby-doo?"

"Yeah..."

"Shaggy."

"Shaggy?"

"kind of ironic"

John broke into laughter, facing away as he spit, choking on his own tounge. Sherlock joined him, one cheek tightened in amusement fondly muttered

"Not what you guessed?"


	9. Movies, Shopping and dirty bribes

Maybe it was all the nicotine patches that Sherlock had whipped out the moment they arrived home. Slapping them on, letting his body fall relaxed running to John with bright smile, or maybe it was the tea... it was awefully sugary. But all John knew, was that in front of him were 3 things. Two of them DVD's and one of them a brilliantly enthusiastic Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock... I can't"

The two rectangles were shoved closer, the once pleasant face now completely straight and stone. Sculpted to perfection, and in front of this pale rare creature, was point break and white chicks. John sighed and took the lesser of two evils, point break. The cover was ripped anxiously, with long unsure fingers foreign to the case, struggling to find how the hell you were supposed to open it. When he had succeeded John saw his face lift in triumph, he jolted up. Regaining all of the dignity as he could after bumbling with keanu reeves face.

"I *ahem* leave the device to you John."

John knelt forward, quite suggestively, his head ended at Sherlock's groin. Exhaling frustration as he set the DVD player up, hooking whatever cords came with it. Mycroft had left the present presenting the idea that John and Sherlock cuddling around for a good story or two, and something about 'Sherlock I know how cold you get' after Mycroft had said that, John was pretty sure that the affair between him and Sherlock's violin wouldn't play out, the thing screamed out as though in pain as Sherlock pierced his 'nemis' back with a blue that was extracted from peer evil fiercely throwing his arm across two unbearable strings. Of course the older Holmes knew about their 'buggery' as he put it, long before they did.

"Sherlock..."

Johns eyes were fixed at the suspenseful screen, flashing guns and screaming being rumbled on shitty speakers.

"Yes John."

His keen gaze was distracting by the racing colors, of course the entire movie he'd been deducing exactly what the actors had done before shooting the movie. Being able to tell when the shots were taken, how many takes they had to do for each scene.

"You have terrible taste in movies"

"Oh thank god."

The lanky figure was thrown towards the screen, in a flash shutting off the television.

"I thought you were enjoying that"

Sherlock laughed in relief, John blushed immensely, his face completely neutral, (his military stance untouched) however Sherlock read his eyes pleading 'come ere' big boy'. And consensual sex was something Sherlock hadn't had in while considering John had to be abducted for penetration.

"John"

"Yes?"

"I am rather bored"

"You want to shag don't you?"

"Not now."

"You've been trying to hump me for the past how long, infact you HAVE been roping me in for shaggings and NOW you don't want to?"

At that exact moment those words were uttered the six foot tall consulting detective spun around to sulk

"what are you doing Sherlock"  
>"Being bored"<br>"no your not your pouting"  
>"well than that was a really rhetorical question"<br>"I don't think 'really rhetorical' is a legitimate phrase..."  
>"wasn't it?"<p>

Sherlock widened his eyes for a moment, locking sincerely on John

"Wasn't it?"  
>"Wha..."<p>

John close his eyes, trying to remember what the conversation was about

"John-"  
>"I'm thinking Sherlock!"<br>"We were talking about me being bored"  
>"Oh... right, thanks but Sherlock"<br>"I think I want tea... do we have milk?"  
>"No I don't think so but we-"<br>"Lets get some milk!"

Sherlock gasped as he look up, they sparkled under the light as though involved in his pale complexion, His pupils narrowed and he looked at John with such enthusiasm, smiling with a wide grin, deviously plotting behind mystic blue iris'.

"And nicotine patches!"  
>"Sherlock... your high aren't you?"<p>

"It's a three patch problem"

He hung off the door frame, his mug smile still set flying don't the stairs John helplessly running after him, secretly enjoying that Sherlock was a HUGE bitch for keeping him with like 5 hard on's on separate occasions.

"Lemons..."

"wha... Sherlock what in the world would we need lemons for?"

"Is that soft shell taco's?"

John was quickly abandoned after Sherlock set his eyes on... well basically anything in the store. Currently Sherlock was in the pastry isle to admire the icing on the cupcakes, and deciphering who iced it and her various affairs with woman. Her dissapointed father and dead sister. Things Sherlock would roll his eyes over.

"Alright... peanut butter and jam"

John mindlessly through in the first peanut butter that slashed his hand however the jam was a different story. John would be there for a while, playing a ping pong match in his mind between the strawberry and blackberry jam.

"John!"

"Oh god please don't be..."

It was, the highly intellectual being, Sherlock Holmes, carrying in his arms soap, a water jug, methols, diet coke, and of course milk.

"Your not planning on mixing those are you?"

Quite guiltily Sherlock looked at his finds fondly.

"Just some..."

"I'm not paying for the destruction of my kitchen"

"but I need them!"

"No Sherlock I'm pretty sure you don't"

The dark haired man stood there, like the child he was worked out a way for him to get what he wanted. But unlike a child Sherlock had a certain upperhand, he dove to John ear, pressing packages against John's chest, awkwardly conforming

"I'll have sex with you... Better than the car sex"

Damn, the car sex was pretty good.

"Fucking... alright Sherlock!"


End file.
